“In December of 1833, I landed at New Orleans, in the steamer W——.  It was after night, dark and rainy.  The passengers were called out of the cabin, from the enjoyment of a fire, which the cold, damp atmosphere rendered very comfortable, by a sudden shout of, ’catch him—­catch him—­catch the negro.’  The cry was answered by a hundred voices—­’Catch him—­kill him,’ and a rush from every direction toward our boat, indicated that the object of pursuit was near.  The next moment we heard a man plunge into the river, a few paces above us.  A crowd gathered upon the shore, with lamps and stones, and clubs, still crying, ‘catch him—­kill him—­catch him—­shoot him.’

“I soon discovered the poor man.  He had taken refuge under the prow of another boat, and was standing in the water up to his waist.  The angry vociferation of his pursuers, did not intimidate him.  He defied them all.  ’Don’t you dare to come near me, or I will sink you in the river.’  He was armed with despair.  For a moment the mob was palsied by the energy of his threatenings.  They were afraid to go to him with a skiff, but a number of them went on to the boat and tried to seize him.  They threw a noose rope down repeatedly, that they might pull him up by the neck! but he planted his hand firmly against the boat and dashed the rope away with his arms.  One of them took a long bar of wood, and leaning over the prow, endeavored to strike him on the head, The blow must have shattered the skull, but it did not reach low enough.  The monster raised up the heavy club again and said, ’Come out now, you old rascal, or die.’  ‘Strike,’ said the negro; ‘strike—­shiver my brains now; I want to die;’ and down went the club again, without striking.  This was repeated several times.  The mob, seeing their efforts fruitless, became more enraged and threatened to stone him, if he did not surrender himself into their hands.  He again defied them, and declared that he would drown himself in the river, before they should have him.  They then resorted to persuasion, and promised they would not hurt him.  ‘I’ll die first;’ was his only reply.  Even the furious mob was awed, and for a while stood dumb.

“After standing in the cold water for an hour, the miserable being began to fail.  We observed him gradually sinking—­his voice grew weak and tremulous—­yet he continued to curse!  In the midst of his oaths he uttered broken sentences—­’I did’nt steal the meat—­I did’nt steal—­my master lives—­master—­master lives up the river—­(his voice began to gurgle in his throat, and he was so chilled that his teeth chattered audibly)—­I did’nt—­steal—­I did’nt steal—­my—­my master—­my—­I want to see my master—­I didn’t—­no—­my mas—­you want—­you want to kill me—­I didn’t steal the’—­His last words could just be heard as be sunk under the water.

“During this indescribable scene, not one of the hundred that stood around made any effort to save the man until he was apparently drowned.  He was then dragged out and stretched on the bow of the boat, and soon sufficient means were used for his recovery.  The brutal captain ordered him to be taken off his boat—­declaring, with an oath, that he would throw him into the river again, if he was not immediately removed.  I withdrew, sick and horrified with this appalling exhibition of wickedness.